


When I Was Done Dying

by GrapieBee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Character Death, S6 Spoilers, but it doesn’t stick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:09:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapieBee/pseuds/GrapieBee
Summary: Dying was the easiest thing to do, Lance learned.





	When I Was Done Dying

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Dan Deacon’s “When I Was Done Dying” and wondered what Lance saw when he was dead. Enjoy.

Dying was the easiest thing to do, Lance learned.

Easy to make a choice in a single moment, to put himself in the line of fire instead. Even though it hurt, cause of course dying hurt, it was still easy.

For a second all he knew was the feeling of freezing hot electricity coursing through him, from fingertip to the roots of his teeth, then there was nothing. A moment he was there, a culmination of millions of impossible circumstances, the next he wasn’t.

What _was_ hard… what was strange and difficult and terribly frightening, was what he found himself doing when he was done dying.

When the nothingness around him stopped, when his consciousness came back to itself, it felt like a burst of light. It felt like something had peeled back, had been shed, that all of him was freed and exposed and left strong and vulnerable all at once.

He could see everything, in a way. Could see the snaking veins of different timelines stretching out from him.

Could _feel_ the dips and turns of choices he had made /not him but also him, another him, somewhere/.

He could see his family, see their lives glowing like red hot embers in a slowly dying fire.

Because, he realizes is an instant, that was all anyone was in a way. Beautiful and bright and slowly dying all the same.

If he had eyes then, was more than pieces of the universe woven into a form made to know itself, he might have cried.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was a raw nerve now. Another layer, in the moments or hours or years he had been like this, staring out into the inky endlessness of life, had been pulled back.

He knew this was the way things had to be. He’d fall back into line, Lance McClain stripped away layer by layer, until he was just stardust again and ready to be apart of another supernova somewhere.

He would forget himself and that would be ok.

As soon as this had started, it stops. A hand, warm and gentle and firm, pulls him back.

The hand relayers him, puts him back together, snatches him away from the maw he’d been willingly falling to meet.

He falls back to his body softly, carefully, with nothing that death had shown him something his mind would hold on to.

All that would remain was an ache in his chest. An ache that would visit him at night, when he’d wake up sweating and scared and certain he was forgetting something.

Dying was the easiest thing Lance had ever done.

It was living that was hard.


End file.
